


Drawing with the Dead

by DoctorTrekLock



Series: Resolution19 [41]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Ghost!Phil, M/M, artist!clint, background Natasha/Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 08:49:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20775818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorTrekLock/pseuds/DoctorTrekLock
Summary: "Do you believe in ghosts?""Not so much," Clint said with a easy grin. "I have a hard enough time believing in what's in front of me sometimes. What about you?""I've found that at a certain point, believing becomes unavoidable," the man told him slowly, as if picking his words carefully.





	Drawing with the Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "Do you believe in ghosts?"  
Source: <https://doctortreklock.tumblr.com/post/185342304392/nearly-200-writing-prompts-feel-free-to-reblog>
> 
> Originally posted September 25, 2019 on [Tumblr](https://doctortreklock.tumblr.com/post/187950035017/drawing-with-the-dead-september-25-2019)

"Do you believe in ghosts?"

Clint's head jerked up from where he had been bent over his sketchpad. He hastily pulled the headphones off his ears and looked to his left to see a man sitting on the short wall next to him watching him sketch. "Uh, I'm sorry?" he tried.

The man smiled. It was a nice smile, Clint noted absently. "I was asking if you believe in ghosts," he repeated.

"Not so much," Clint told him with a easy grin. "I have a hard enough time believing in what's in front of me sometimes."

The man hummed and looked like he was giving Clint's off-the-cuff answer serious thought. 

"What about you?" Clint asked quickly. It didn't seem like the man was going to be leaving soon, and if Clint were being honest, he didn't mind the company. It seemed like this end of campus got pretty dead after nine o'clock and he could use the break from sketching.

"I've found that at a certain point, believing becomes unavoidable," the man told him slowly, as if picking his words carefully.

Clint scoffed playfully and adjusted the shading on his rendition of the abstract sculpture in the middle of the art building's atrium. "Seen a lot of ghosts, then?" he asked, sliding his gaze back over to the man.

He couldn't really help it. The man sitting by him was plain, almost the dictionary definition of "unassuming," but there was something about him that Clint liked. Maybe it was the confident, quiet way he held himself, his kind blue eyes, or the well-fitted - if slightly old-fashioned - suit he was wearing. Or maybe it was just the way his lightly lined face and receding hairline played into Clint's predilection for handsome older men.

The smile that played around the man's lips twisted wryly. "Something like that, yes," he said.

"So," Clint drawled, waggling his eyebrows outrageously. "Come here often?" If he asked as ridiculously as possible, he could brush it off as a joke if need be.

From the smirk that tugged at the corners of the man's mouth, Clint didn't think he'd have to downplay the question. "Would you believe me," he asked, "if I told you I didn't get out much and that this was the only place I'd been in a very long time?"

For a moment, Clint wasn't sure if he was serious or not, but the upturned corner of the man's mouth was enough to convince him that it had just been very, _very_ dry humor.

Clint snorted and the other man seemed pleased that he had recognized it as a joke.

"I'm Clint," Clint said, twisting in his seat so he could offer the man his right hand and a dazzling smile. "Clint Barton. Do you want to get a drink with me?" What the hell, might as well, right?

"Phil Coulson," the man said politely, making no move to take Clint's hand. "And I'm afraid I can't, as much as I would like to. Unfortunately, incorporeality does have its drawbacks." He sounded honest-to-god regretful about it.

Well that had stung a bit more than anticipated. Clint drew back quickly and used his outstretched hand to rub the back of his neck. "Ouch," he half-joked. "That's a new one." He glanced over at the sculpture in the center of the atrium again and tried to focus on the lines he'd been sketching.

"Excuse me?" The man - Phil - sounded baffled, but Clint didn't look over to see if his expression matched his tone.

"It's just that usually when a guy doesn't want to go out with me, he just says no." The curve at the top was actually a little rounder than he'd drawn in his sketchbook, Clint noted absently. "He doesn't pretend he's a ghost."

Phil didn't say anything for a moment, so Clint brought his pencil back up with his left hand to gently correct the shape. He'd barely started, though, when a movement caught the corner of his eye. Phil had leaned in and placed one hand gently on Clint's elbow.

Normally, that wouldn't be cause for alarm. However, _normally_, Clint would have sensed someone leaning into his personal space. And _normally_, he'd be able to _feel_ where Phil's hand rested on his arm.

Clint stared at the place where his eyes were telling him Phil Coulson was touching him and his arm was telling him Phil damn well was not. His lifted his right hand hesitantly and placed it over Phil's fingers. If Phil were a tangible, physical person, Clint would be clutching at his hand like an Austen heroine. As it was, his fingers hovered over space his eyes were insisting shouldn't be empty before he laid his fingers flat on his own arm.

Immediately, a cold tingle rushed through his hand, instantly putting it to sleep, pins and needles and all.

Clint swore and pulled his hand back abruptly. Phil flinched away as well. Clint shook his hand a few times and swore again as the pins and needles played havoc with his pain perception. "Sorry," he managed, flexing his hand twice to try and dispel the sharp tingling.

"No need to apologize," Phil said. "It's hardly the first time."

He sounded sad. Clint looked over at him to find Phil inspecting his own hand. There was a slump to his shoulders that he could have sworn hadn't been there a few minutes earlier.

"Hey," Clint said softly, his own fading pain forgotten. If Phil had been physical, Clint would have bumped shoulders with him. (Then again, if Phil had been physical, Clint wouldn't have needed to.) "You okay?"

Phil straightened up. "Of course." He straightened his cuffs, carefully not looking in Clint's direction.

Clint had just opened his mouth to say something reassuring (what, he had no idea), when his phone buzzed. Since there were only a few people who might have been texting him this late at night, he pulled his phone out and glanced at it. It was an SOS from Nat.

Before he could have a heart attack (and, boy, wasn't that joke less funny with apparently an honest-to-god ghost sitting right next to him), a second text came through. Apparently she and Bucky had just entered one of the "off" phases of their on-and-off relationship and his presence was required.

Clint sighed and muttered, "Great timing there, Nat." He shot her a quick acknowledgement and looked back over at Phil, who seemed to be attempting to memorize the abstract sculpture if the intensity of his gaze was any indication. His shoulders were stiff.

"Sorry," Clint apologized, closing his notebook and starting to put his drawing supplies back in his backpack. "My best friend just broke up with her boyfriend again and could use some help practicing her knife throwing."

Now Phil just looked concerned. "Are you sure that's the safest..." He trailed off.

Clint didn't notice; he was half-bent-over, trying to squeeze the sketchpad into his backpack. "Nah, it's fine. I was in the circus and I think she was a Russian assassin in a previous life, so we've got it covered." He straightened up and stood, swinging his bag onto his shoulder. "Anyway, I should really be heading out." He hesitated. "Will I see you again?"

Phil was staring at the backpack slung over one shoulder. "You're a student?" he asked faintly.

"Uh, yeah," Clint frowned. "Just started a couple weeks ago." Phil's expression was becoming increasingly dismayed. Clint hitched his bag higher and tried not to let it get to him.

"I usually only talk to the professors," Phil explained. "I thought you were older. An artist-in-residence at the very least." He looked distressed.

Clint had the sinking feeling that now Phil wouldn't want to get a drink with him even if he were physically capable of it. "It's cool," he lied. "I know I'm a bit older than the typical freshman. It was the circus," he added, desperate to explain. "They weren't big on traditional schooling and I had to take some extra time to get caught up." Clint focused on the floor of the atrium and hoped his face wasn't as warm as it felt. Did he really try to reassure the handsome ghost haunting the art building that he wasn't too young to hang out with because he'd been too stupid to get into college at 18?

"Clint."

Clint glanced up again and Phil looked uncomfortable. Before he could say anything, the phone in his hand buzzed again.

"I've got to go," Clint said. "Apparently Nat needs Rocky Road to go with her target practice." He tried to give Phil a smile, but he was pretty sure it came out sad and wonky. "Anyway," he added unnecessarily.

Phil didn't say anything, so Clint took that as his cue to go.

"Clint," Phil said again.

Clint turned back to see him standing next to the low wall where the pair had been sitting. He looked decisive. "Yeah?"

"I can't get a drink with you," the ghost of Phil Coulson told him. "But I would enjoy talking to you again, if that's something you would like." He held Clint's gaze steadily, but Clint could have sworn he saw a hint of a blush on the top of his cheeks.

Clint gave Phil another smile, this one wider and more sincere. "I'd like that."

They looked at each other across the atrium for a moment before Clint threw a hand in the air in a jaunty wave and turned to go. "See you around, Phil," he called.

He didn't look back, but Clint could have sworn he heard an affectionate sigh behind him.


End file.
